


Compatible

by syredronning



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy has a weakness, and Kirk doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compatible

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Secure](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1403) by blue_jack. 



> Word count: 5600  
> **Author's Note**: Written for the ISS Enterprise Remix Challenge. This is a remix of blue-jack's wonderful story [Secure](http://blue-jack.livejournal.com/7064.html), which has the premise of Bones getting turned on by being tied up. This is my MU take on this situation.
> 
> Many thanks to zauzat for the beta! And an extra thanks to who betaed my first take on the remix and made me see the light that it sucked like hell :) All remaining errors and weaknesses are mine.  
> Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek, I own my brain. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

McCoy firmly believed a pervert was made, not born. Having studied psychology, he knew that wasn't always true, but in his case, he liked to think it all started with his mother.

Now, almost thirty years later, it forced him to live with a secret he'd never even shared with his ex-wife Joss; the fact that the only thing that really turned him on was getting tied up and used. It would be a weakness to latch upon for everyone around him, and so he carefully built an image of being a tough macho with a nasty tongue and a mean hypo.

It kept him secure, but also alone and unsatisfied, except for the nights in which he jerked off with sweet memories of his youth in mind.

It was probably only _fucking_ logical that it would be Jim Kirk to find out about it.

*

They met on the flight to the academy. He was that close to throwing up, but Kirk managed to talk him through his shitty aviaphobia, and he shared his drink in return. When he offered the flask, there'd been a tiny moment of hesitation; but as he'd just drunk from it, Kirk figured out that it probably wouldn't be poisoned.

When they left the shuttle after having watched the others disembark first ("_you wouldn't want to have them at your back_", Kirk whispered), they made it exactly through the hangar and around two corners before they ran into a group of four guys in cadet red, positioned in a straight line with the odor of _you cannot pass here_.

"Friends of yours?" McCoy muttered and stretched his neck, trying to decide if he should keep next to Kirk or rather get out of the way of the attack that would come upon his unplanned acquaintance any second. The guys made the decision for him, ignoring him as they jumped Kirk. There wasn't even time to reconsider his involvement, as two of the guys lay in their own blood only seconds later. McCoy swallowed as he surveyed the scene; he had rarely seen anyone that fast with a blade. What he supposed to be some stupid country kid got instantly retagged to "_damn dangerous country knifer_".

"Getting a good start, Kirk?" a cool voice said, and McCoy turned to face Captain Pike, the man who'd collected him from the dirty corner where he'd drunken his head off three days ago. He automatically took two steps back and raised his hands in an _it wasn't my fault_ gesture. Pike's cold gaze skidded over him before settling on Kirk, who just pulled his hand away from a cut he'd received on his upper arm, a little blood on his palm.

"Cutting throats isn't considered good style," Pike said as he nudged the bodies with the tip of his boot. "Besides, you might like to control your reflexes a little, we'd like to have some cadets left in the end."

"Yes, sir," Kirk said solemnly and with no sign of regret.

"From tomorrow on, I'll make sure you'll learn proper procedures," Pike said, then looked at McCoy. "Fix him up before you both sign in."

"Okay," McCoy answered reflexively, thrown out of his thoughts.

"That better be a _sir, yes, sir_, tomorrow too." After a last eye contact that left McCoy shivering a little, Pike stepped over the bodies and walked away.

McCoy pulled out his medical emergency set, and Kirk stared at him. "What're you up to?"

"Going to heal you, of course. Wouldn't want to end up in the agony booth on my first day because of disobeying a direct order, would I?" McCoy grumbled. "And relax, I'm a certified doctor."

Once they got to the receiving office, the only room left turned out to be a shoebox with two beds very close to each other and barely enough space to turn and dress.

"I won't kill you if you won't kill me," McCoy said, and the light smirk that had rested on Kirk's face all throughout the flight _and_ the fight suddenly turned really bright before erupting into a rumbling laughter.

"I like people with a sense of humor," Kirk said when he found his breath again, slapping McCoy's shoulder hard. "Just make sure it's the right kind of humor," he added, and the unvoiced threat made McCoy nod without another comment.

Thus, day one at the academy started.

*

They slipped into a manageable routine over the next weeks with their largely divergent classes and schedules, and if McCoy had a subdued fear of his roommate turning suddenly psychotic on him, well, that could be expected after a death toll of two even before the sign-up.

It had set an example, though, and only two other suicidal idiots tried to tackle Kirk over the next week — _the_ Kirk, McCoy found out, son of George Kirk, hero of the Empire — and they'd ended up in McCoy's first aid. Their wounds were painful but not life-threatening, so McCoy tended to them only so far that the guys wouldn't bleed out on the way to the hospital.

_Let them suffer for their idiocy._

Once Kirk started staying out for most nights, fucking god-knew-who, McCoy had more time to himself, which was good when he needed to alleviate his permanently underfucked state.

Chances were he'd be able to hide his secret just fine — or so he thought, until the night when three people dragged him out of bed and slapped him until he passed out. He came to his senses in a dark, cool room, stretched out on his side with his hands tied behind his back and his ankles bound together by tape, his groin gently rubbing against Kirk's seated leg.

_Fuck._

*

"Calm down. It's just a simulation," Kirk said.

"Then you might stop aiming that phaser on me?" McCoy said, voice a little shaken. The weapon should reduce his arousal but _surprise, surprise_, mostly added to it. Damn nerves. "Fuck, I'm developing the mother of all headaches."

"Shut up. You're here as one of five hostages, and will be used for negotiations."

"Big fun," McCoy said — and saw stars when the phaser smacked into his jaw.

"I said, shut up," Kirk said coolly. Only now McCoy noticed that he wasn't the only person tied up in the room; the other hostages lay close by, their mouths taped shut.

"Wanted to spare you, but I guess it's better to silence you too." Seconds later, the tape stuck on McCoy's lips. He wished he'd used the beard suppressant in time; this would hurt like shit when being pulled of.

There was movement, Kirk getting up and walking around, other abductors coming in, commands uttered in hushed voices. One of them, McCoy recognized as Finnegan, a brutal asshole. The man selected two hostages for interrogation, and McCoy was terribly glad it hadn't been him when their anguished cries resounded in the building shortly after. As the headache kept going strong, he drifted into half-sleep.

After a while, Kirk returned to him.

"Hey, Bones," he said, and while McCoy usually liked to ignore being addressed with this ridiculous nick name, he was almost grateful as his room mate removed the tape and fed him some water. "I made sure that you'd be spared," Kirk whispered. "Wouldn't want to have my favorite doctor roughed up." This was more of a favor than McCoy would have expected, and he felt surprisingly touched.

Kirk put the tape on again, then settled very close to him. McCoy kept as still as possible; all captives had been rigged with agonizers reacting to position changes, and he definitely didn't need a shock. But that also meant remaining near to Kirk, and a certain part of him grew against his will, soon nudging against Kirk's leg. He could only hope that Kirk wouldn't notice.

"Everything okay?" Kirk asked, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. McCoy shrugged and nodded, so Kirk shifted his guarding focus back to the other two captives. Over the course of the next half an hour, McCoy's erection hardened steadily against the warm flesh despite his best attempts at controlling his body.

The whole situation was unreal; that Kirk kept sitting next to him like this was strange. If this was a test, why didn't Kirk assume his usual leadership position? Unless he kept sitting here to protect McCoy, which McCoy simply couldn't imagine.

The simulation ended, having cost him nothing more than some beard hairs and a bruise on his face. When they passed the row of instructors on their way to the briefing room, McCoy could see Captain Pike in the back. His figure was almost melting into the wall due to his dark instructor uniform, but his eyes were clear and rested right on McCoy.

Kirk and McCoy both received a demerit for inactivity, which Kirk took with a shrug and the remark, "It's been one hell of a boring test. They better bring on something more interesting next time."

When McCoy was taken for another simulation two weeks later, it ended with three cracked ribs, a loose tooth, a concussion, and the bad memory of hands feeling him up, taunts of bending him over and fucking him that felt so real that even his greedy subconscious wasn't too pleased with them, sparing him the shame of an erection.

Finnegan was thrown out of the academy another week later for having actually raped someone during a simulation. "Nobody would've said a word about him having some fun, but the broken glass bottle almost killed the guy," McCoy overheard two cadets speaking about the incident in the corridor. "Just because he thought the guy was getting the hots for him…"

A shudder ran through McCoy. Seemed he'd been damn lucky.

*

The second time McCoy suddenly found himself in acute danger of an unplanned outing, it was once again not his fault — okay, maybe the fault of his frustrating ineptitude at handling parachute jumps out of a shuttle. Instead of landing within the intended circle, he ended up in a tree at least two kilometers away, strapped into the suspension lines just as their name proposed, almost horizontal to the ground somewhere beneath him. His attempts to wiggle free lead only to more chaos, and as he pulled out his knife to cut the ropes, it slipped out of his hand and landed on the ground with a faint clink.

_Shit._

McCoy closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax. All would be well, someone would come and pick him up any minute, so he could just as well stop fighting and enjoy his current situation. Over the fight with the lines, his traitorous dick had already decided to get aroused, and now that he allowed the feel of the tight bondage to run through him, all of his body followed swiftly.

The sweet, slight burn of the lines against his left nipple, no matter the layers of material between them. The feeling of free-floating, as he was slightly moved by the wind that brushed through the wood. The pressure around his upper arms that were tightly strapped to his chest by the unordered lines — all of his situation was a blast, as long as he forgot that he was actually supposed to pass this terror class. Once he was set free, he'd have to repeat this jump.

_Oh joy._

"Not your day, Bones?" someone said, and McCoy opened his eyes, glad that of all the people who might find him in this precarious situation, it was Kirk. His room mate picked up the knife with a grin. "Let me help you."

Seeing Kirk walking to him with a knife in his hand should probably make him nervous, especially as there was a strange twinkle in the young man's eyes. Kirk tsked as he saw the mess of lines McCoy had made, running the blade teasingly down this and that one without cutting anything, pretending he was on the lookout for the best strategic approach.

"What are you waiting for?" McCoy muttered. "Cut off the lines around my legs first."

"Oh, this one?" Kirk said and slit one on McCoy's calf, going so deep that it ripped at the pants. "Sorry," he said without obvious regret, much like after his first killings at the academy, then cut some of the other lines just as deeply. When McCoy's lower half could stand on the ground, he was bleeding from several small cuts.

"What the hell…?" he asked, feeling his blood freezing as Kirk ran the knife along his groin.

"Seems your dick's into knife play," Kirk said amused, and ran the knife along the line of McCoy's full bulge. McCoy held his breath, disbelievingly staring at Kirk.

"Enough played," Kirk muttered and cut the other lines so quickly that McCoy fell to the ground, landing on his knees.

"Bones —" Kirk said and he looked up at him in slight terror. "Next time, you'll land where you should, and not ruin a perfectly good parachute." A fist slammed into his face, a boot landed in his stomach, and he didn't understand the world anymore when Kirk pulled him up a moment later, cheerfully helping him back to their team. Unsteady on his feet, bleeding from various cuts on his body and a torn lip, McCoy bowed his head to await his instructor's punishment.

The commander glanced at him with the shake of his head that was reserved for hopeless cases. "Usually a fuck-up like yours will land you in the booth, but it looks like you already received your lesson, cadet. Find a new uniform and get ready for the next jump."

When McCoy staggered away, he considered that Kirk had actually done him another favor.

*

Kirk invited him to a beer that night, and it started a tradition of going out at least once per week, hanging out in some bar and sharing their academy experiences. Kirk taught him some tricks on how to get along better with some of his more annoying instructors, and McCoy shared some of his hypo recipes with Kirk — those for hangovers as well as those for hard-to-analyze, miraculous illnesses.

Sometimes, McCoy thought of them as a team.

*

Commander Walker was a brilliant doctor who liked his future medical personnel sharp, bright, and well-prepared for all the million possible conflicts that could arise, both within the crew or with the other officers, especially the captain. He had a surprisingly unbloody reputation, but rumors had it that he reigned in his personnel by other means, and obviously with much success — something McCoy was about to learn.

"I like you, McCoy," Walker said on an early Friday morning after a not particularly successful week, in which McCoy's big mouth had gotten the better of him various times. "I really like you, but I also think you need to realize that you can't walk around insulting superiors — _even_ if they fuck up."

"Doctor Zi'han just didn't —"

"I don't care, McCoy," Walker snapped. "You're overdue for a little lesson but I dislike the booth — just costs too many brain cells. So you're volunteered as demonstration object for a second-year-class today. Go to room 2830 and report to Commander One."

Biting down any unwelcome reply, McCoy went his way, unsure what to find there. Commander One was a beautiful woman with very sharp, dark eyes that she swept up and down his body. "So you're the mouthy med student," she said. "Strip down to your underwear."

"What class needs a naked volunteer?" he sputtered.

"This is R&amp;B, Ropes and Bonds, and you'll be the object on which I'll demonstrate the various ways of tying up someone. So shut up and strip," she said coldly.

He shivered as he got out of his cadet reds, down to his black briefs. "Good body," One said, and he felt strongly objectified — _not only in a bad way_ — by her statement. She brought a rubber hood to cover his head. It was tight and without eye openings, and it was hard to breathe through the small holes at the nose and the mouth.

"Wouldn't want people to know who you are," she said. "Come with me."

She led him out in the corridor and into another room, where he could hear and feel people shuffling and talking, men and women. Silence fell over them as he unsteadily walked in.

"This will be our demonstration object for today. At first, we'll briefly go through the standard means of securing someone with official equipment — hand-cuffs and all. Aside from the technical side, we'll have a look at the psychological impact of certain methods."

The commander turned him around. "First, these are the standard cuffs." Cool rings closed around his wrists, tying them behind his back. Between his legs, his dick stirred a little.

_Uh-oh_.

*

He managed to control his impulses just fine through the morning lessons; handcuffs didn't do a lot for him, and One had such a clinical touch in her interaction that he could relax, sometimes diverting his brain with some recapitulations of his medical material for the next classes. Things got worse when she put him over a desk, showing how to secure wrists and ankles optimally. She challenged him to break free while going from one bondage position to the other, but when he tried half-heartily, it just hurt more and still made him end all tied up. She was fucking good at this.

Much too good, his erection thought, which by now tangibly strained against the edge of the desk.

"And now a position that is especially effective for humiliating a captive," One said and placed him on a chair. Soon his upper arms and his wrists were tied to its backrest, while his legs were spread wide over the seat's edges, his ankles bound left and right to the back legs. His erection and balls were tightly nudged against the hard seat, far too pronounced to ignore. There were whispers and subdued laughs in the room. McCoy almost thought he recognized Kirk's voice but that couldn't be; this was a second-year-class.

"As you can see here, some men find such a position — interesting," One said and ran fingernails over his bulge. "Twenty minutes break, and then we'll see whether he's still interested."

There were some more lewd remarks as the students noisily left him behind for a coffee. In the silence of the room, nothing could stop McCoy's body from fully succumbing to the fantasies that crossed his mind against his will. No matter what he tried to think of, nasty STDs or alien viruses, his erection just didn't subside. He was fucked, he absolutely knew it. She would humiliate him beyond belief, probably demonstrating terrible methods of genital torture on him. He tore on the ties but of course they held fast, and the only effect was his hard-on getting even harder, curving against the fabric.

He hung his head, breathing heavily. _Doomed, doomed, doomed_.

Suddenly there was the sound of the door, then quiet steps quickly drawing close. He tilted his head, desperately wishing he'd be able to see a thing.

"Relax, Bones, it's only me," Kirk's voice said, and McCoy stifled a hysterical laugh; wasn't he supposed to remain anonymous? Just his luck that Kirk was in this class, fucking little genius.

"So you really get off on it, don't you? It's not just pain or nerves, but getting tied up…" Fingers ran down his length, gentle and all the more arousing. "That does the trick."

McCoy whimpered.

"Okay. We need to get you through this. I'm going to jerk you off, that might last until the end of class. And if you're called in tomorrow again, you should use some local anesthesia."

McCoy nodded. Hands quickly pushed the front of his briefs down, freeing his dick and his achingly full balls. He drew a sharp breath as one hand cradled them, while the other one stroked up and down his length. Thrashing and groaning McCoy gave in to the ride, half wanting it to be over as fast as possible, half wanting it to go on forever because this was the single best ride in decades.

"Hurry on, we don't have much time," Kirk said after a few minutes, and that returned McCoy's mind to the critical situation at hand — with a strangled cry, he came so hard he saw stars, feeling the pulsing eruptions go on and on and on…

When he could think again, the hands had already cleaned him off and put the now softened member and the balls back into his briefs. "Hang on, Bones, just two more hours."

_Easier said than done_, McCoy thought, but as hoped for, the rest of the presentation went smoothly, One not losing another remark about his former interest. When the class was over, the commander led him back to her room before removing the hood.

"Hope that's been a lesson," she said, cool but not unfriendly, and patted his back. "I've got to say I've seen shabbier victims. You could always really volunteer as demonstration object for this class, you know. It would earn you some extra points."

He dressed quickly and fled in slight horror, on the lookout for Kirk.

*

He found him in their room, although it was already evening, the time Kirk usually vanished for good. With only a brief greeting, McCoy passed him and took a shower, trying to think about something good to say.

_I loved your hands on me_, a part wanted to say.

_Tie me up and take me. _

Or just_, do whatever you want with me._

But he couldn't do that. He just didn't know how to trust someone so far as to voice what he really needed, and he couldn't imagine Kirk would invite his admission of weakness. They had a comfortable… well, friendship, his only one in years, and he didn't want to ruin that.

Besides, he was into bondage and not into pain, and the various rumors about Kirk's sexual practices were enough to give him a run for his money. He well remembered the way Kirk had run his knife down his groin in the parachute accident, and he wasn't one for that kind of play.

Geared up for a discussion, he left the bathroom only to find their dorm empty.

When they met again two days later, Kirk didn't drop any remark about the incident, so McCoy didn't either.

*

McCoy didn't know who of the R&amp;B class spread the rumor that he'd been the guy on that chair, but it was contagious. Second-year cadets of the security track started rattling their handcuffs when he passed them by chance, making leery gestures. He ignored them; he wouldn't let himself get infuriated by some brain-dead assholes.

The next rumors about someone would come up soon. It would pass.

*

Whatever had kept Kirk away from their room at night seemed to have ended, as his room mate suddenly turned up every evening. McCoy noticed that Kirk looked pale and like he didn't get enough sleep. Kirk also seemed to be under more pressure, regularly coming to their dorm with injuries from obvious fights.

"You should see the other guys," Kirk usually said with a grin, lazily cutting geometrical patterns into the table top with his knife even through the most painful treatments.

"Anything I can help you with?" McCoy offered, but Kirk shook his head.

"You're doing enough."

"Why do they keep coming after you?" McCoy asked one evening when he'd tended to him, and Kirk looked up from the violated surface of the table with a sparkle in his eyes.

"Because I'm the best."

Being the best obviously didn't do anything for Kirk's rest, though, and between offering sleeping pills and a beer, McCoy decided to drag his room mate out to the bar more often.

*

It was two weeks later that McCoy woke up naked and blindfolded, kneeling with his legs spread, thighs and calves parallel to the ground, ankles and wrists tied around the column at his back. Not an exactly comfortable position.

"Hey, you dirty asshole," someone said, using a voice decoder.

"Is that you, Brannigan?" McCoy muttered. "Got a problem with me being first in class, and you barely scraping through the surgery qualification?"

He was backhanded hard — all the proof he needed to know who his captor was. Brannigan was exactly the kind of doctor McCoy couldn't stand: with mediocre knowledge and techniques, but profound sadism. He tortured foremost for his own fun, not because he'd been ordered to punish or interrogate someone.

A boot's tip nudged against his groin, his _fucking stupid_ groin that couldn't be bothered to hide a growing erection.

"So you really like that, don't you?" Hands substituted the boot, pumping his dick until it was fully enlarged. McCoy hated his body with a passion right now. There were more steps, more people than just Brannigan. This was going to be rough.

"God, look at that perv. He gets off on it."

"So what?" McCoy spit out despite the danger, unwilling to show his fear to these cowards. "Not my fault that you're an impotent slimeworm who doesn't get it up by any means."

Next thing he knew was him crying out in agony. When the pain ended, he sagged against the column.

"Wanted to say something?" the distorted voice said.

"You mean, something more about you being a jerk who can't get a girl without your gorillas holding her down?" McCoy grunted.

The agonizer landed on his chest again, and McCoy could feel his heartbeat stutter under the attack.

"At least I get some," his torturer said. "And you won't, not any longer."

And then a boot's heel stomped on his dick and balls that lay on the ground, twisting and grinding them until they crushed.

McCoy passed out.

*

The hospital room looked surprisingly charming from this position in bed, McCoy thought as he woke up. On his chest, there was some synthoskin on his second-degree burns from the agonizer. Between his legs, he didn't feel much; _good choice of local anesthesia_, he thought blearily. Unless there was an internal fight for promotion, most of 'fleet medical stuck together and helped each other when things got bad. Assholes like Brannigan excluded, of course.

At his right, Kirk sat and held his hand.

"Water…?" McCoy asked roughly, and Kirk fed him some from a new bottle.

"How bad…?"

Kirk smiled lightly. "A few days here, and you'll be as good as new."

"Great." McCoy's eyes dropped close.

*

Surgeries came and went. The prognosis for full recovery was good, but despite it all, McCoy started wondering if he'd ever have a future in the 'fleet.

Brannigan would only be the beginning, and he couldn't out-fight people who wanted to get the better of him, being in no gang of his own and with nobody who'd stand up for him.

*

Next time he woke up, Captain Pike was in the room. McCoy tried to sit up in the cushions, but Pike waved his hand in a _never mind_ gesture. The man looked as regal as ever, but his expression was almost friendly for a change.

"I'm here to inform you that Cadet Brannigan had an unfortunate accident. Obviously he hypo'ed himself with DCMEA instead of DCMAA." The last was a coughing agent; the first a deadly venom. McCoy frowned.

"He died after an hour of agony." Pike drew a little closer to the bed. "Nobody knows how Kirk did it, but everyone is sure that it was him."

McCoy held his breath; he hadn't known Kirk cared enough to revenge him.

"I know that you both look after each other. I also know that there's the potential for more —" McCoy swallowed as Pike's grey-blue eyes cornered him.

"I'll give you the same advice I gave him. In our jobs, _in this 'fleet_, everyone needs one person in which he can trust completely, without second thoughts. And I don't speak of allies or simple friends, I speak of someone who's the best partner you'll ever have, in every sense of that word."

"Isn't the official opinion that that would be a weakness?" McCoy asked wearily. "That's what everyone teaches us."

Pike shrugged. "There are official lessons, and there are the lessons that officers will give you in person. Feel free to ignore any of them." He turned to leave.

"Do you have such a relationship?" McCoy forced out of his dry throat when Pike already had his hand on the sensor.

"Yes, I do," Pike said without looking back at him. "And you'll forget I ever said that to you." He stepped through the opening doors, leaving McCoy to his own, brooding thoughts.

*

When McCoy was released, Kirk, who hadn't visited him again in hospital, picked him up in person.

They walked to their room in silence, and McCoy was glad when he could sit down on his bed; he would need some more days until he'd be ready for duty. On their joint table, there was a small pile of PADDS. McCoy looked at them in question.

"Just gathered the material of all the classes you missed," Kirk said. "Wanted to copy it, didn't finished yet."

"Jim…" McCoy didn't quite know what to say. "Thank you. For everything."

"No problem," Kirk said, nudged off his boots and took a PADD in hand, ready to end their discussion.

That was the moment McCoy decided that they needed to talk, badly. "Why do you do that for me?"

Kirk gave him a cautious gaze. "You help me, I help you… we're good allies."

Pike's words in mind, McCoy considered the statement and found it lacking by far. "That's all?"

Kirk sat down on the other bed opposite to him, putting the PADD aside. "All you ever wanted, and that's fine by me."

"I had fears that you'd look down on me for being into that kind of perversion. That I like to be… controlled."

"I rarely run with the crowd," Kirk said. "I think it's… interesting. Compatible."

"Compatible?"

"I've got this problem," Kirk started. "I can't sleep when there's someone else in the room with me. I just can't."

McCoy blinked. "But didn't you sleep here in the first weeks?"

Kirk shrugged. "I tried and hoped it would go away but it never improved. So every night, I went and slept somewhere else. Until…"

"Until you didn't want to leave me alone at night. And I thought you fucked around all the time."

"On occasion I do, though far less than the rumors have it." Kirk smiled crookedly. "Reputation is important, but usually not much based on facts."

McCoy curled his hands in his lap. "And why are you telling me this?"

"I think if that other person were… tied up, I would feel safe."

McCoy held his breath.

"It doesn't have to be sexual, that's not what it's about," Kirk added easily. "It's just that I can't sleep next to someone who could overpower me in my sleep."

There was suddenly a big, large elephant in the room, one of similar histories with different results, both of them once having been in a position in which they'd been unable to prevent being used by someone. While it had instilled a deep fear of loss of control in Kirk, it had given McCoy a yearning for the same.

_Compatible indeed._

McCoy inhaled sharply, gearing up for courage. "You said it doesn't have to be sexual… but for me, it would be. It always would be, okay? You could do something about it or not but the moment you'd tie me up I'd get aroused. It's mostly the bondage but it would also be about you. If you could accept that…then tie me up all you want." His hands shook so hard by the end that he clamped his fingers together in his lap, all his shoulder muscles aching from the tension.

"You'd allow me doing that to you?" Kirk replied, eyes gleaming. "Tie you to the bed, see you vulnerable and open…"

"Yes," McCoy gasped, feeling his blood pooling between his legs just from the description.

Kirk went up, walking over to him. "I'd be fine with it being sexual," he said. "Because it would be for me too."

With a shaky sigh, McCoy looked up at him. "I trust you. Maybe I'm mad for saying that but I do fucking trust you."

"I trust you too." Kirk brushed through his hair. "You know… someone once said to me that we all need that one, unique person in our life in whom to trust completely."

McCoy involuntarily laughed, the sound both sad and rough from his overstrained nerves. "I thought I had that once. That idea is the road to hell."

"Did she know about this?" Kirk asked and reached down to capture McCoy's wrists in a tight grip.

"No," McCoy admitted.

"But I do," Kirk said. "And I'll take care of you, just as you take care of me."

 

Stranger things probably happened in the world, but right now, spread out on his bed with Kirk — _Jim_ — caressing his chained-up body, McCoy couldn't think of anything stranger…

…and better.

***


End file.
